


Restless

by Lexalicious70



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, M/M, Smut, or not so accidental IDK
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 16:54:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10858167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexalicious70/pseuds/Lexalicious70
Summary: Quentin can’t sleep, and his midnight stroll leads him to an encounter he never expected.





	Restless

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t own The Magicians: they own me, heart and soul. This is just for fun and because my insurance doesn’t cover emotional therapy. Comments and kudos are magic! Enjoy!

Restless

By Lexalicious70

 

Sleep never came easily for Quentin.

 

Sure, he’d get tired and have to close his eyes and catch a few hours, especially after practicing spellwork or if he’d stayed up too long studying, but he’d never been the kind to go to bed at a certain time and get a solid eight or nine hours before waking up refreshed. His body and mind simply weren’t wired that way.

 

Once awake, Quentin always found it difficult to go back to sleep and would either curl up in the study nook downstairs with one of his Fillory books or to practice Popper movements or, as he was considering on this night when sleep had mostly eluded him, slipping downstairs to the kitchen for something to eat. Eliot was a prolific cook when the mood took him, and ever since Quentin had come to live at the Physical Kids cottage, Eliot had treated him to a variety of dishes and drinks he’d never heard of before: egg flips, black spaghetti, chicken dishes prepared with olives and spices with names that were almost impossible to pronounce. As a result, there were always plenty of leftovers, so Quentin pulled on a pair of grey boxers and a plain white tee before heading down the hallway to see what he could find to nibble on. It was oddly quiet in the cottage, and as Quentin approached Eliot’s door, he heard a sound. He paused and then took a step backward, cocking his head to see if the sound was repeated. A moment later Quentin heard it again—a quiet whimper. The door was pulled closed but not latched, and Quentin hesitated.

 

_Nightmare, maybe?_ He asked himself. _Do I wake him?_ _Or maybe he’s not alone_. It was possible, even though Quentin had seen Eliot retire to his room with a bottle of Moscato as his only company at around 1:30, about three hours ago. Quentin listened but heard no other voices, no evidence that there was anyone with Eliot, just that little whimper again. Quentin crept to the doorway and nudged it open a crack. The room was bathed in shadows that came from a touch lamp in the corner, set to the lowest hue, the multicolored shade creating muted shapes of red, green, and yellow across the ceiling. Quentin eased the door open a bit further with his bare foot so Eliot’s bed was visible. In the low light, Quentin could see that the older magician was most definitely alone, sprawled on his back on the bed. The bottle of Moscato sat on the nightstand, about an inch of the yellow liquid left. Quentin felt his face warm as he realized Eliot was naked and that he had his left hand wrapped around his cock, which was well on its way to being fully erect. Eliot’s eyes were closed and that soft whimper escaped his lips every few moments as his long fingers played languidly over his dick.

 

_Oh shit, he’s jerking off_! Quentin thought to himself, and the blush spread to his neck. _Okay, well, that’s—it’s whatever, all guys do it, right? Totally normal._ _We all spank it. Everything’s good, I can go find my snack now._

Except that Quentin didn’t move away from the door. He lingered, pushing the door open just a tiny bit more as he watched. Just to make sure Eliot was really okay. He cared about Eliot in a way that he hadn’t about anyone in a long time, even James and Julia. From the first day they’d met, Eliot’s smile lit the dark places in Quentin in a way he didn’t think was possible, and the state of his general well-being was rapidly climbing the list of Quentin’s priorities.

 

“Mmmmmh.” Eliot sighed, his facial features relaxing as he stroked himself at an unhurried pace, and Quentin watched his thumb stroke over the broad head.

 

_He’s left-handed. Why did I never notice that before?_ And on the heels of that: _Fuck, he’s huge_.

 

Eliot shifted, spreading his long legs even wider, which gave Quentin a better view of his cock. It was indeed more than a handful, even for its owner, and Quentin licked his lips as he imagined wrapping his own fingers around it, stroking its length, wondering at the feeling of Eliot’s skin—a hot shaft wrapped in soft velvet. Imagining Eliot’s soft intake of breath.

 

Quentin’s right hand stole to the front of his boxers almost of its own volition and cupped his cock, which was starting to flex and stiffen. Eliot’s hand was moving faster now and his right hand moved in to fondle his testes before he planted the soles of his feet on the mattress and lifted his hips to tease his perineum and ass with his fingers. Quentin swallowed hard and gave his own cock a squeeze through his boxers. He wasn’t sure why he was still watching or why the sight of Eliot’s erection was making him so achingly hard, but maybe it had something to do with Eliot’s smile and how Quentin felt whenever they were together. The way Eliot drove back the darkness and how Quentin wanted to do the same for him.

 

_You need to stop it. You have to walk away before someone catches you, stupid!_ Quentin scolded himself but his cock, which was now taking over most of his brain, seemed to laugh that suggestion off while it flexed and stiffened. Quentin slipped his hand into the slit of his boxers and touched the head, and his fingers came away wet. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this aroused—he didn’t masturbate often and his only sexual encounter with another person had been nearly three years earlier, at some house party off campus when he’d been a sophomore at Columbia. He’d gotten drunk and tumbled into bed with an experienced woman three years his senior, who had taken his virginity without even removing her short skirt. It was over in about three or four minutes, and Quentin remembered laying there, feeling sticky and underwhelmed and wondering what all the fuss had been about.

 

“Ohhhh . . .” Eliot’s moan brought Quentin back to the present. Both his hands were moving now, and Quentin could see that Eliot had two long fingers pressed up into himself and was working them in and out rhythmically. Quentin leaned against the doorjamb as his cock dribbled hot seminal fluid and he wrapped his hand around it more firmly, pulling the slick from the head and sliding it down the hot length. If anyone happened to step out of their room or show up in the hallway now there would be no explaining away what he was doing, but Quentin couldn’t seem to stop. His hand moved quickly inside his wet boxers, matching Eliot’s rhythm. Eliot’s hips twisted and he hitched in a breath.

 

“Quentin—”

 

Quentin’s eyes snapped open and he stumbled back a step, thinking Eliot had opened his eyes or sensed him, but the older magician was lost in a fantasy, his dark curls fanned out on the pillow, his eyes tightly closed, his mouth slightly open, his breath coming faster as he worked toward climax.

 

“Quentin . . . fuck me . . . fuck me!” Eliot gasped, and Quentin trembled and sagged against the doorway as his cock jerked and fountained, the sensations making his knees weak. The spasms seemed to electrify every nerve below the waist and he bit his lower lip hard to quell his moans. Eliot shuddered and gasped again and Quentin watched his cock jet in the low light, some of the streams reaching as high as his upper chest. His right hand pistoned eagerly until his orgasm subsided and then he slowly lowered himself down onto the mattress, his heels resting on the mattress and his toes pointing up again. Quentin pulled his sticky hand from his boxers, staring at the rapidly-cooling mess on his fingers.

 

“For Christ’s Sake.” Eliot’s voice startled Quentin out his gaze. “Don’t just stand there . . . come in and hand me the baby wipes!”

 

“Uhm—you—you?”  Quentin stammered, and Eliot grinned as he opened his eyes.

 

“Knew you were there? Of course I knew . . . I could smell your cologne and hear you wheezing once I really got going. Now get in here, seriously, I forgot to bring the wipes!”

 

Quentin took a few steps into the room.

 

“Shut the door.” Eliot said, and Quentin obeyed.

 

“The wipes are in the bathroom on the shelf, over the sink.” Eliot said, making no move to cover up. Quentin found them and brought them over to the bed.

 

“Eliot, look—”

“Quentin I swear to—to whatever—that if you apologize for watching me masturbate, I shall be very offended!”

 

“Offended? But—”

 

Eliot used the wipes to clean himself up and then motioned for Quentin to pull off his own boxers, which Quentin did, despite the blush it caused. They were getting a bit too cold and clammy for comfort.

 

“Do you honestly think that if I hadn’t wanted you to watch, I wouldn’t have told you to get the fuck away from my door and mind your own business?” Eliot’s touch was gentle as he wiped Quentin clean.

 

“I guess you would have.” Quentin nodded. “You’re not exactly shy.”

 

“No.” Eliot tossed the wipes in the trash and Quentin’s boxers in his hamper, wadded up to keep the mess contained. “You had quite an orgasm.” He patted the mattress. “Come on . . . you can sleep here.”

 

Quentin hesitated and Eliot rolled his eyes before taking his hand and tugging him down.

 

“Don’t be such a sad sack! Come here. Q! Come on.” He eased the smaller man down until he was laying on his side and then covered them both with the blankets. Eliot arranged himself until he was spooning Quentin from behind and draped a long arm over his waist. Quentin closed his eyes.

 

“Eliot?”

 

“Mmm?”

 

“Were you really thinking about me? I mean, before you knew I was watching?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Is this the first time you’ve done that?”

 

“No.” Quentin could almost hear Eliot’s smile. “In fact, I jerked off thinking about you that first night, about how we met when you came to take your exam.”

 

“Jesus . . .”

 

“It’s why I let you watch. What better way to let you know that I like you? Now hush and get some sleep.” He nestled into Quentin, his other hand resting between them, his fingers playing the hair at the nape of Quentin’s neck until he sensed the pattern of his breathing shifting into sleep. Eliot smiled to himself in the dark and closed his eyes.

 

_Oh, Quentin Coldwater. I have so much more to show you._

FIN

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
